


The Early Years

by ficdirectory



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Cerebral Palsy, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Disability, Disuphere Universe, Drug Addiction, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 21:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: Go back in time to see The Avoiders in their early years (birth - age four) including how their parents met.





	1. Pearl

When Pearl is born…well…that’s when Paris’s whole world changes. **  
**

He’s always wanted to be a dad, see.  And wanting that made him too eager to marry the first woman he thought he could start a life with.

Carla’s younger, sure.  Twenty to his thirty.  But they got along.  Had fun together.  She was such a nice person.  Everybody said so.  Everybody in town.  Carla had a reputation for being well-liked.  She was fun.  A free spirit.  So, pregnancy got her down a little bit.  Morning sickness and all that.  

When they got the first ultrasound?  Their baby was nothing but a tiny speck.

“ _Just like a little Pearl_ ,” Carla had remarked.

“ _Honey, we don’t know if it’s gonna be a girl or not.  Right now, it’s just a baby._ ”

“ _Oh, she’ll be a girl, all right,_ ” Carla had said in that way she had of convincing everybody around her to listen to her.  “ _She’ll listen to me because I’m her mom_.”

Sure enough, Carla’s right.  They’re having a girl.  Even though Paris suggested the name Evangeline, after his great grandmother who raised him, Carla had scoffed and Paris had tried not to show how deeply her reaction hurt.

 _“She’s a baby, Paris.  I don’t want her named after some old lady from the 1800’s.  It’s 1983!_ ”

One afternoon in June, Paris gets home to find Carla gone, and a note, left on the door, in Carla’s handwriting:  

_“St. Joseph’s.  Baby.  Water broke at store.  Hurry.”_

Paris doesn’t remember making the drive to the hospital.  Stopping by the receptionist’s desk.  Being told Carla West was in labor and delivery, and he was welcome to wait in the waiting room.

He just remembers pacing.  Pacing and pacing and pacing.  Trying  to tune into the news on in the corner about how there’s about to be a U.S. woman going up in space for the first time.

Paris finds himself thinking of Pearl.  Imagining possibilities for her.  She could be an astronaut someday.  Paris is not naive.  He knows this is not an ideal world.  But he would like to make it as close to one as possible for his daughter.

It’s just after 9 PM when somebody comes to speak to him.  Informs him that he has a beautiful baby daughter.  He goes to Carla first, who asks him to go write the baby’s name out for the birth certificate:

“Pearl Marie,” she insists, spelling it out for him like he’s not, in fact, ten years her senior.

(He knows, very well, that Marie is Carla’s grandmother’s middle name, as well as her own.  Her hypocrisy in this strikes him like a blow.)

“I got it,” he answers, and walks out of the room.  To the nursery, where a nurse holds up his tiny baby, Pearl.

He takes a good look at her, crying and perfect.  God, Paris has never seen a more amazing baby.  He taps on the door, and asks to come and have a closer look.

“Please, I’m a new dad,” he all but begs.  “Carla West’s my wife. Just had a baby girl.”

“Of course.  Baby Girl West is right here.  Does she have a name yet?” a nurse asks, picking up baby Pearl and handing her to Paris to hold.

“She sure does.  Her name is Pearl Evangeline West.”  He takes his time.  Spells it carefully.  Knows it will be a few days before Carla knows anything, and by then, it will be too late to change it.

“Marie means bitter, baby, and you are not bitter.  You are a bringer of good news.  Just like your great, great grandma was.  Yes, you are.”

In his arms, Pearl stirs and opens her eyes, squinting at the bright lights.  Her tiny hand finds his big old finger.  Grabs on.  Holds tight.

“Hello, Pearl.  I’m your daddy,” Paris tells her, soft.  Gentle.  He feels filled with certainty that this will be the greatest thing he will ever be.  The biggest job he will ever have.  His most important responsibility.  “Are you gonna be an astronaut?” he asks.

Pearl yawns.  Her eyes fall closed.  She’s still holding onto Paris’s finger.

Somewhere, a nurse snaps a picture with a Polaroid camera.  Paris in a rocking chair.  His arms full of sleeping baby Pearl, clinging onto his finger.  When he knows he’s been gone too long, Paris reluctantly puts Pearl back.  Tucks the Polaroid into his jeans.

Goes back to Carla.

–

On June 12th, they come home, a family of three.

Carla is exhausted, and still angry about his giving the ‘wrong name’ for Pearl’s birth certificate.  Paris is a pretty patient guy.  He’ll blame her current mood on the hormones.  

“It ain’t the wrong name, honey.  It’s her name,” Paris points out.

“It’s Pearl  _Marie_.  I told you,” Carla snaps.

“I can take her.  Hold her for a bit,” Paris offers.  “You can get some rest.”

“Oh no.  Who knows what else you’re gonna do?  Change her birth date?” Carla jeers, holding onto Pearl tighter, so she fusses.

“Carla, that’s not…  Come on…” Paris hates that he’s all but begging to hold his own baby.  But what else can he do right now?  Might as well let Carla simmer down a little.

–

Turns out, there is one huge chunk of time where Carla cannot be bothered to hoard baby Pearl.  And that’s anytime between about 8 PM and 8 AM.  So, Paris is up at 10 PM, and midnight, and 2 AM and 4 AM, and 6 AM.  Heating up formula.  Changing diapers.  Singing to Pearl.

It’s exhausting, especially as there ain’t no such thing as paternity leave.  So he’s got to be out the door at 8:30 AM to work a full day, after making sure Carla’s awake to take the baby.

But the half a dozen times Paris is up at night?  That’s their time.  When Pearl looks wide awake, and smiles at him at 4 AM, Paris can’t help but smile back.

It’s these times, late at night, while Pearl’s taking her bottle like a champ that Paris talks to her about himself.  (“Confession time, baby, your daddy? Is smart.  And that’s how I know you’ll be smart, too.  Maybe not book-smart like your old dad.  But maybe you’ll be people-smart.  Or street-smart.  Everybody’s some kind of smart.  Including you.”)   He tells Pearl about his family, knowing just how little Carla likes to associate with them.

But if Paris has anything to say about it?  Pearl is gonna know where she’s from.  Her family.  Her people.

–

Things start to decline in the marriage, even while Pearl flourishes.  

Standing at 6 months.  Full on running 3 months later.  Never even crawled.

She talks for the first time at 9 months old, running up to Paris as he arrives home from work with an exuberant, “Hi, Dada!”

Paris scoops her up, and greets her, equally happy to see her.  “Hi, Pearl!  How you doin’?  You good?”

She nods, and wraps chubby arms around his neck.

(Carla, of course, is livid that Pearl’s first word is not  _Mama_ , like it “should be.”  Paris tries to ignore it.  Tries to protect baby Pearl from the onslaught of negativity.

Pearl’s two, speaking full sentences and reading  _The Cat in the Hat_  like a pro.  But Carla seems completely unprepared for what to do when Pearl reaches her end at McDonald’s one afternoon.  She wants to play on the playground and doesn’t seem interested in eating her food.

“I’m gonna slide and merry-go-round,” Pearl tells them, as Paris manages to convince Pearl to eat one French fry by covering it in ketchup and offering it to her.

“God, Paris.  She’s two years old.  She’s not a baby.”

Paris sits back.  “Do you hear yourself?”

“ _I’m gonna slide and merry-go-rooouund_!” Pearl insists.

“ _After you eat your food_!” Carla snaps, in a mocking voice.

Though, she’s just a toddler, Pearl knows when she’s being teased.  The lip comes out.  Her eyes fill with tears.

“Pearl, McDonald’s is a treat.  If you can’t be happy, we can’t come here anymore,” Carla warns.

Paris’s heart breaks, as he watches Pearl, unable to keep it together and at naptime, no less, breaking into tears.

Carla wastes no time scooping her out of the booth and carrying her to the car.  She falls asleep on the drive home.

–

The next time Paris is coming back from work, he makes a stop at a local store and cases their toy aisle.  Until he finds what he is looking for.  A grumpy Care Bear with a sad cloud on its front.  Paris buys it, knowing some things, you gotta make an exception for, even if money’s tight.

Carla’s getting her hair cut a few hours later when Paris gives the toy to Pearl:

“This is for you.  I know Mommy told you you had to be happy all the time–”

“–or no McDonald’s,” Pearl remembers, sad.

“Right.  But this right here?  This is a special friend named Grumpy Bear.  See, how he’s not smiling?”

Pearl studies the bear, concern showing in her eyes.

“Well, that’s because Grumpy Bear wants you to know if you’re grumpy, you can tell him.  Or you can tell Daddy, too.”

“He can’t go to McDonald’s…” Pearl says, regretful, cuddling the bear.

“He absolutely can go to McDonald’s,” Paris corrects her, gentle.  “But how about, before we go, we talk about what’s gonna happen when we get there.”

“Okay,” Pearl agrees with a smile that melts Paris’s heart.  He talks her through how they’ll tell what they want.  Then, they’ll get their food.  Then, they’ll eat their food, and then they’ll play on the slide and the merry-go-round.

He writes it all on a receipt in simple words.  Gives it to her to carry.  He can hear her talking to Grumpy Bear in the car:

“Don’t worry, Grumpy.  We get to go to McDonald’s.  We don’t have to be happy all the time.  See?  Look at this list.  This is what we’re gonna do.”  She shows the bear the list, talking him through all the steps.

When they get there, Pearl still wants to slide, but Paris is able to reason with her, by making quick work of ordering their food and then pointing out that they’re already one step closer to getting to play on the playground.

He occupies her by asking if she can read NO SWEAT, written on his hat.  She correctly reads NO and almost reads SWEAT.

“No sweat means something is easy,” Paris explains.

“Not hard?” Pearl checks.

“Not hard,” he confirms.

“That’s why your hat says NO SWEAT?  Because going to McDonald’s is easy?” Pearl asks.

“That’s right.  Know what else is easy?” he asks.

“What?” Pearl asks, standing Grumpy Bear on the table.

“Loving you.  You’re such a good girl.  You’re smart and kind.  You’re curious.”

“Like Curious George!” Pearl pipes up.  “Pearl was curious…” she quotes, except that line originally had George, the monkey’s name in it.

“That’s right!” Paris laughs.  “And you can have all the feelings you have.  Because feelings are good.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Pearl beams.

Their food comes.

They eat.  

He catches her as she slides down the biggest slide.

Pushes her on the merry-go-round.

She falls asleep again in the car on the way home, but at the end of a much better day.

–

It’s two years later.  October 24th, 1987.  

Pearl’s four and has just started kindergarten.  Paris has spent the last couple of years talking to lawyers, and anybody who will listen about his situation.  About the state of their marriage that has only gotten more and more awful.  About the effect that it’s having on Pearl.

But it’s no use.  Everyone he talks to says if he divorces Carla, custody will likely stay with her.  No judge awards it to fathers unless there’s significant abuse or neglect.

And even though he’s glad it hasn’t gotten that bad, he also knows, the verbal and emotional wounds Pearl has already, thanks to her mom, will last.  Even though they don’t scar, the damage will be there.

Paris thinks long and hard about what to do.  Actually has Pearl in the car.  Just picked her up from school.  And it would be so easy.  So, so easy to just drive away with her.  To let Carla find the papers in the mail when she gets home from work today.

But Paris can’t do that.  So, he talks to Pearl on the way home, like always.  Tells her he loves her.  Tells her he will see her later.  Gives her a kiss.  And drops her off with the neighbor, who babysits her while he and Carla work.

“Bye, Daddy!” Pearl calls, smiling.

“Bye, Pearl.  I’ll see you real soon.  I promise.”

(But he doesn’t.

Carla’s madder than a wet hen when she finds out about the divorce.)

And what’s worse?  As he’s pulling into a motel for the night?  He finds Grumpy Bear, on the floor in the back seat of the car.

Paris brushes him off.  Brings him inside.  He’ll go to the post office in the morning.  Mail it first thing.

It just doesn’t seem right that Pearl be without her favorite toy.

And it's easier knowing Pearl will think this, than considering she might ever find out the truth.


	2. Mariana and Jesus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana slept with Gabe because he wanted her to. Because maybe, he’d love her then. Because, maybe, he’d stay. She never imagined getting caught. Getting high. Getting pregnant. Having twins.

Ana had thought that Gabe was a sure thing.  That she had finally found someone who would love her.  Unconditionally, and all that.   **  
**

Gabe was older.  She remembered him from school as a freshman for a little bit.  He dropped out.  Never finished.  But Ana could never forget a face like that.  

Seemed like fate that they ever found each other again.  Gabe Duncroft.  Hot Man on Campus…except, he wasn’t on campus by then.  He introduced her to weed.  She smoked it ‘cause she wanted him to like her.  ‘Cause maybe if he liked her they’d stay together.

It was one time.  Her first time.  Ana hadn’t known it could happen that quick.  Sure, the teachers in eighth grade health were all about warning the girls that “it only takes once” but Ana had been sure the teacher was shitting them.  Just trying to put the fear of God into them so they’d never do anything fun.

Turned out, though?  Mrs. Grundy was being serious the whole time.

It had gone from the best day of Ana’s life to the worst.  She’d sneaked Gabe into the house when her parents were at work.  Ana had started skipping once in a while.  Because high school was obviously for some people and not for others.  It wasn’t for Ana, that’s for sure.  What was she gonna need Algebra I for anyway?  She was gonna work at the bakery anyway.  There was a cash register.  It would tell her how much to give back to whoever, and how much the total was.

Anyway, she sneaked Gabe in.  It was hot.  Romantic.  They smoked.  Made out.  Pretty soon there were clothes coming off.  Ana didn’t really wanna do it but she wanted Gabe to like her, so she let him do it.  It hurt more than she expected.

Just when things were finishing up?  Dad walked in.  

It was every nightmare Ana ever had.  She’d been sure Dad was about to murder Gabe.  Chased him out of the house, and then gave her the third degree about who he was, how she knew him and how old he was.

She slipped up and told the truth.  Gabe was 18.  

And that was that.  Mom and Dad went to the cops, filed charges, because of the age difference, and that was that.  

Ana never saw Gabe again.

–

Pregnancy came on like the way a frog is boiled.

You know, it goes along in the water, as the temperature’s being turned up one degree at a time and the frog’s just hanging out, thinking life’s great.  

‘Til he’s dead.

By the time Ana realizes she doesn’t have the flu, like she’s been telling herself, it’s been months.  

And she’s moved on from weed and beer to even harder stuff.  The drugs help the denial.  But they don’t make it stick.

Even high she can do the math.  Knows she’s due sometime in late July, maybe early August.  It’s March before her mom confronts her.  Says she “knows what’s going on with her.”

Ana’s sure she’s screwed.  Mom knows about the drugs.

But no.

“ _I know about the baby_.”

Dad had had a fit.  Definitely threatened to kick her out of the house, and she almost went but for Mom’s begging.  

(She called Gabe in secret from a friend’s house, to tell him.  His advice shocked her: “ _Just get rid of it.  We can’t raise a baby, Ana.  I’m in jail and you’re fifteen_!”)

Even though Ana always did whatever Gabe wanted, this time, she wasn’t going to.  She was going to have it.  A baby would have to love her, right?  (It also worked out in her favor that abortion was, like, basically illegal in the Catholic church.  She had to keep it.  God said so.)

She thought she had time.  To prepare.  To get straight.

But two months later (and nine weeks early) she’s definitely in labor.

It’s May 16th, about 4:00 in the afternoon when it starts.

–

Ana wasn’t naive, even though her parents thought she was.

She knew giving birth hurt.  She’d watched enough telenovelas know that it hurt like a bitch.

But, really, who would have thought that she and Gabe getting caught doing it on the living room couch by Dad would be the easy part.  It’s true what they say.  Making the baby’s the easy part.  Having it?  Not so easy.

She is in labor for, like, 12 hours.  She feels like she’s gonna give up after 2.  Definitely after 8.  But her baby is just not coming out.

Finally, when Ana feels like she’s about to die from exhaustion, from stress, and from not having her damn drugs, the baby’s here.

She’d been distracting herself when she could think by thinking about names.  

“Her name’s Mariana,” Ana sighs as the baby is whisked away before she could even hear it cry.

She has no idea why everybody’s still all gathered around her like there’s a show going on.  Has no idea how he even knows this - other than maybe the contractions that keep coming.

“Is this–normal?” she gasps.

Not until the doctor says:  “Ana, you’re going to have to keep going.  There’s another baby.  You’re having twins.”

Ana doesn’t have time to object.  To tell him he has no idea what he’s talking about.  Because in the next thirteen minutes?  There’s proof.

“You have a baby boy,” the doctor announces, whisking him away, too.

–

They’re airlifted to a better hospital far away.  Ana drifts on a haze of sleep and really wants some pain meds.

But it turns out her parents aren’t done with her yet.

“When you’re well enough to be discharged, we’re going to figure this out,” Mom promises.

But while she was stuck in the hospital?  Dad was at home, searching her room.  Finding her stuff.  And then “figuring stuff out” about the babies became “finding Ana help.”

Which Ana totally hated.

She didn’t need help.

She was fine.

–

It’s three days later when they can finally all make it down to see the babies.  Ana can’t drive.  Doesn’t even have her permit.  So the two-hour trip with her dad at the wheel, mad as hell at her, is a special kind of torture.

Seeing the babies.  That’s awful, too.

They’re tiny.  Mariana is two pounds ten ounces.  Her brother is three pounds even.

(She really has to think of a name.  Dad’s already forbidding her from naming him Gabriel.  And she sure as hell is not naming him Hector, after Dad.)

Before she goes, she settles on Jesus, because it’s a ‘decent’ name, according to both her parents.  (She does sneak ‘Gabriel’ in as his middle name on the birth certificate.  Even though middle names aren’t usually a thing.)

But the truth is, thinking of a name for her son was really the only thing that occupied her from the guilt that she’s feeling full force, now that Dad’s confiscated her stash.

Because both her babies are sweating.  Shaking.  Struggling to breathe.  They’re in withdrawal.  And it’s her own fault.  Ana can’t deal with this.  It’s too much.  It’s too hard.

It’s because of the guilt and having no escape from it that she agrees to go to a local treatment center Mom and Dad found.  She gets interviewed.  Finds out she’s not necessarily an addict yet (good news) and they keep her for seven days.  

It’s bad.  But not as bad as real life, having two babies in the NICU that you put there.

–

Ana’s home from treatment at the end of May.  Both babies are still hospitalized.  Mom visits them every weekend - or every other - as often as she can.

As far as Ana?  She just tries to keep busy.  Tries to pour herself into school, but catching up now with just a few days left in the year is a bad plan.  After a couple days fighting a losing homework battle, Ana just gives up.

(Maybe she’ll drop out like Gabe.)

Pouring herself into school for that brief time did bring some good things.  Mainly access to more drugs.  She just needed money.  So she started stealing stuff her parents wouldn’t miss, especially with them visiting the babies all the damn time.  What about her?

Oh, well.  If they don’t care about her, all the better.  It’s not like it would be much of a change anyway.

–

It’s like Ana blinked and it’s the end of June.  

Mariana’s coming home.  The past six weeks have been a blur.  She’s four pounds and still loud and fussy as ever, according to Mom.  Ana’s seen her a few times, but going into that NICU was too much.

Jesus is still there.  He needs a few more weeks til he’s ready to be out.  (Reminds her of jail for babies.  Did they have baby drug rehab?  Did Jesus get more than Mariana?  Is that why he has to stay for longer?)

Needless to say, Ana doesn’t understand any of this stuff.  The longest she’s managed to stay clean was a couple weeks, including the week of treatment.  She keeps trying, though.  That’s what no one gets.  She keeps trying to get clean.

Maybe she’s like baby Jesus.  Maybe she just needs more time.

Having Mariana here changes everything.  She’s loud and demanding and Ana kinda hates her a little.  Hates the way Mom and Dad soften around her and are all kind and gentle with her, and all snotty with Ana.

Sometimes, Mom insists, Ana holds Mariana.  Tries feeding her.  But she cries.  Or she falls asleep.  Does basically anything but what she’s supposed to do.

(Ana guesses the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.)

–

The babies are two days past two months old when Jesus is finally allowed to come home, too.  He’s grown.  She’s barely seen him.  She stopped going after Mariana was released.  So it’s been almost a month since she’s seen him.  He looks even bigger than Mariana.  And they’re happiest when they’re together.

For a while, everything seems okay, when Ana had definitely been braced for awfulness times two.  Twice the loudness, twice the diapers, twice the responsibility.  But having Jesus around seems to calm Mariana.  And he seems most chilled out around her, too.

They get into a routine.  Find a rhythm.  Ana realizes she can get out of nighttime feedings if she goes to school.  So she goes.  That gets her out of baby duty for like, most of the day.  She can come home and play with them for a few hours after school.  Kinda like having a little brother and sister.

–

Before Ana knows it, the babies are nine months old.  

She’s struggling as a junior.  Her only joy is seeing her posse at school.  They get high.  Whatever.

But one day near the end of February, everything changes.  Ana gets home from school to find Mom and Dad planning family vacation for next month. A thing Ana always looks forward to.

“Cool, are we going to Texas again?” she asks.

“Do you have money to pay for you and the babies to come, too?” Mom asks.

Ana’s stunned.  “Seriously?  I don’t have a job.  I have to go to school, where do you think I’m gonna get that kind of money?  Isn’t it enough that we’re family?  You paid for me before the twins!  This isn’t fair!”

“You’re a mother now,” Dad says, like that changed everything.  

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Ana screams.

Mariana starts to cry.  Jesus crawls over to comfort her.

“Come here, Maricita,” Mom coos, picking Mariana up.  She’s fat and happy in a pink onesie.  Jesus is in a green one.  He’s still somehow bigger than his sister.

“You know what?  If you don’t want us in the family, then we won’t be!” Ana exclaims, grabbing Mariana from Mom.  She scoops up Jesus off the floor and rushes to her room to throw some things in a bag for her, and in another bag for them.  

She remembers bottles.  Diapers.  Wipes.  Formula.  Seriously, and they act like she can’t raise her own babies.

Both babies are crying, as Ana leaves, a bag slung over each shoulder, a baby in each arm.

–

They couch surf for a while.  Mostly with Ana’s older friends that Mom and Dad don’t know.  She doesn’t have a cell phone, thank God, and thank God, she’s 16 now and can drive.

They spend a few days here and a few days there.

Eventually, they settle somewhere.  It’s abandoned.  Spooky.  But, hey, it’s a roof over their heads.

Ana had thought she brought enough formula to feed the babies for…months, but there’s two of them which means they go through stuff twice as fast.  They blew through the baby food Ana managed to shoplift in no time.  

The babies are 10 months old now, close to 11 months, and Ana’s got no one to watch them.  She has no food and they have no food.  They’ll be okay here in the playpen til she comes back.

It’ll be a few minutes.  Tops.

–

Ana never meant to forget about the babies.

It’s just, she ran into friends on the way to the grocery store and they asked if she wanted to have some fun.  It’s so rare now that any of her friends wanna hang with her.  Since she had the babies she is like the major downer.  But there’s a party and she’s invited.  

The babies ate a ton and drank a ton already, they’ll be good a while longer, and it’s not like they’ll be able to get into anything when she’s gone.

There’s good music and better drugs at the party and before Ana knows it she’s a million miles away from the loud music, the people’s voices, the fact that she’s got babies now at 16 fucking years old.

Next thing she knows, Ana wakes up.

She has no idea what day it is.

It takes her fifteen minutes to remember where she is.  Another five to remember the babies.  It’s after 9 PM when she gets in.

She can hear both of them screaming from out front.

Going in?  The smell is enough to make Ana gag.

But she’s too scared not to check on them.  Both are crying hard, their faces red, both reek.  She can see teeth marks in the playpen, where they bit it.

It hits her.

She remembers glancing at the clock at 3 PM yesterday to go get them more food since they ate everything.  She left her babies home alone for 30 hours.

Ana’s glad they’re still alive.  

She gets to work, cleaning them up.  She gives them baths and treats their little butts for the awful diaper rash they have.  She fills their bottles with water, and each drink fast.

Ana tears apart the kitchen and finds an old sleeve with three stale crackers in it.  Breaks off pieces for the babies who ignore her, and shove food into their mouths.

She finds the end of a box of Cheerios and lets them work on that next.  While she tries to think of what to do.

Her only saving grace is?  Her babies can’t talk yet.  So neither one can tell about what she did.

Thank goodness.

–

In the end, Ana decides the best thing she can do is try to make up with Mom and Dad.  She knows they did their Spring Break thing without her.  Fine.  Whatever.  Ana’s mature enough to rise above.

Mom can’t stay mad at her as long as she wants to have a relationship with the babies.

Ana lets her plan their first birthday.  (Mariana starts talking at 18 months, saying  _Baba_.  For most babies, that would mean bottle.  But for Mariana?  It means Jesus.)

At 2 years old, Jesus still is not talking, and Ana’s starting to wonder if something’s wrong with him.  By now, Mariana’s got some kind of babytwin psychic power and tells Ana (or Mom) when Jesus “wants up”, “wants juice,” “wants ‘buela.”  (Jesus never wanted Ana.  Neither did Mariana.)

Still, Ana tries to put up with her mom’s annoying ways because it’s way easier to care for the babies with a little help.  Plus the big parties she throws for them mean that they can get a lot of the stuff they need, and it can last for the whole year.

(It should anyway, assuming there are no desperate times.)

But Ana has the worst luck, so it’s pawn shops with Mom’s stuff and when Mom kicks her to the curb again, and Ana’s got the kids.where she finds herself taking her kids’ barely used clothes, toys, etc to the local Once Upon a Child for cash.

The twins turn 3.  Jesus has finally started talking.  His first word was  _Nana_.  At first Ana thought he was talking about her.  Then, maybe Mom.  But no, it was his sister.  Like usual.

There is no party.

They turn 4, and Ana gets sloppy.  Starts inviting dudes over.  Sleeping with them in exchange for whatever money she could get out of them.  Sometimes they’d get high together.

It was fine.  The kids always stayed outside anyway.

And when they didn’t, and the dudes tried to mess with them?  Well, they learned their lesson, then, didn’t they?

–

It’s March again.  Ana’s least favorite time, ‘cause it reminds her of being demoted from the family vacation.  So she’s stayed high for the last few days.  Because it’s better that way.  

There are some dudes here.  But it doesn’t take long for them to vacate.  She doesn’t know where the kids are.  Around, probably.

She nods off until she hears the sirens.

Then, she jerks awake.  But it’s like she’s underwater.  She finds Jesus and Mariana out on the deck where she left them but the cop found them first.

Raw wrists.  Crying.  One of the dudes must’ve not been joking around about cuffing them if they were too naughty and refused to stay outside.  They’re each crying, handcuffed to opposite ends of the deck railing.

The cop uncuffs them.

“Don’t ‘rest us, please!” Jesus says, brave.  “We’ll be good!”

“You kids need to come with me.  You’re not being arrested.  I promise.”

(Ha!  Cops.  You can never trust them.)

Mariana’s silent.  But they hold hands and go where the cop tells them.

Next it’s Ana with cuffs on.  Ana in jail.  (She tried to explain she wasn’t the one who did it.  That it was somebody else.  But those pig cops said it didn’t matter.)

She doesn’t know where the kids go.  But hears about it two weeks later, when something happens, and they’re moved.

As her head clears from the drugs and smoke and booze, Ana finds herself wondering…  Will she be allowed on family vacation now?

Now that it’s back to how it used to be?


	3. Dominique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaimie and Michael have known each other forever. It just seems right that they keep finding their way back to each other. That they start a life together. Dominique’s arrival makes their family complete.

Jaimie Carter first saw Michael Williams in first grade.  Mrs. Samsel’s class.  1977.

She was outgoing, precocious, fun.  He was shy and quiet.  Could barely get his name out of him when the teacher took roll call in the morning.  Looked fit to pass out when he was picked to be leader for the day, while Jaimie said her daily “Here!” with gusto.  Pride.  While Jaimie led the Pledge of Allegiance, never needing to be told her right hand from her left.

Michael never did either.  He always knew.

They didn’t really talk.  Boys and cooties.  (Cooties were real, 6-year-old Jaimie was positive.)  But when she tripped over her shoelaces and fell on the playground, and all the other kids laughed and pointed?  It was Michael who came and tied her shoe for her - double-knotting it like a pro.

Then asking “You okay?” and offering her a hand up.

Jaimie told him yes, she was.  But didn’t take his hand.

But she remembers one time.  There was a spelling test, and Michael, definitely the best speller in first grade, had that fit to pass out look again.  Sweating.  Shaky.  Breathing fast.

Before the test started, Jaimie nudged him, whispering:

“Y-O-U A-R-E S-M-A-R-T.”

Hoping none of the other kids could spell as fast or as well, and none would overhear.  None did.

And Michael calmed down.  And he aced that test.

–

Jaimie didn’t see Michael Williams again until high school.  

So much had changed.  She had changed.

But the best parts of Michael hadn’t.  She remembered being surprised seeing him at his locker the first day of school - the one right beside hers.

“Hey.  Remember me?” he asked quietly.

And for the first time in years, a genuine smile grew right there on Jaimie’s face.

“Of course,” she nodded.  “Yeah, I remember you.”

They caught up between classes when they could.  They didn’t have any together, but Jaimie wished they did.  Like, really wished.  She did have plenty of classes with Rozariah Miller, her best friend, since the fourth grade.  She had a twin brother, Royal, and the three of them hung out.  A lot.

The thing is, now, Jaimie was kinda wanting Michael to come hang out, too.  But she wasn’t sure how Roz and Royal were about to take it.

“Oh, Michael Williams?” Royal asks, lighting up when Jaimie tests the waters.  “He’s cool.  He’s in my Honors English class.  Knows every single answer.  You want me to see if he wants to hang?”

–

By sophomore year, they’re dating, though Jaimie’s mom was firm on the idea that she not date til she was 16.  Jaimie invited Michael over, so he and Mom could get to know each other a little bit.  So Mom could feel more at ease around him.

“I don’t want y’all going anywhere just the two of y’all and gettin’ all hot and heavy…” Mom warned.

“No, ma’am.” Michael answers, before Jaimie can utter one embarrassed word.

“We were just gonna hang out with the Millers.  You know, as friends…” Jaimie insists.

“As long as you kids stay together.  No sneaking off.  You hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.  I hear you,” Jaimie nods.  “Love you, Mama.”

“Love you, baby.  Michael, you seem like a sweet child, but if I hear one word about you treating Jaimie wrong, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t,” Mama warns.

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael nods.  “I mean, no, ma’am.  I’d never treat her wrong, ma’am.”

–

Kids at school were mean.  To Rozariah and Royal, especially when they started going out as a whole group - the two of them - Jaimie and Michael.  Kids said the twins were dating each other.  Jaimie and Michael knew it was ridiculous.  Roz and Royal knew it, too, but their words still hurt.

They tried not to let it bother them as they’d go to the movies or for ice cream.

Before Jaimie knew it, it was the summer before senior year.  She and Michael had been dating 15 months.  Well, hanging out as a group, but still, it counted.

Michael had a way of paying attention to detail.  Of getting Jaimie exactly what she would have gotten herself.  He came into their aisle with a large bucket of popcorn, a Butterfinger and a Coke, all dropped off for her, as they settled in to check out this new Tom Hanks comedy,  _Big_.

“How’d you know?” Jaimie asked, incredulous.

“I’m still pretty S-M-A-R-T…” Michael whispered in her ear.

Jaimie smirked, as he settled in between Royal and Roz, and Rozariah whispered in her ear.

“He knows what you like to eat!”

“Would you shut up?” Jaimie laughed.  “I know he knows what I like to eat!  We been dating each other more than a year.  If he didn’t know by now I’d be a little concerned.  Watch the movie…” But Jaimie’s heart still stuttered that extra beat thinking about how sweet it was.  For Michael to pay such close attention like he did.  That he cared so much about what made her happy.  Even if it was a giant tub of popcorn, a giant candy bar and a Coke.

“Fine,” Rozariah settles back in her seat and they watch.  All the while, Jaimie, tuned into Michael’s laugh.

At the end of the movie, they exit the theater, feeling that odd disappointment that it was time to face the real world again.  Jaimie went to Roz’s car, and before she could even open the door, Michael was there.

“I got it.  I got it.”

“Thanks.  And thank you…for the snacks…” she said, their faces just inches from each other.

They both leaned in, instinct.  Their lips touched.  “Mmm, you taste like grape soda.”

“You taste like Butterfinger, popcorn, and every one of my dreams, Jaimie Carter.”  He said, meaning every word.

Jaimie blushed and looked away.

“Okay, break it up, break it up,” Royal insisted comically butting between them.  “Michael, let’s go.”

“I’m going,” Michael echoed but remained rooted to the spot, staring at Jaimie.

“You wanna stand here in the parking lot while Jaimie, Roz and I go back home?  That’s cool,” Royal said easily, getting in his own car and revving the engine.

“See you back there,” Michael murmured.

“See you.” Jaimie whispered, her hand to her lips.

–

“You know, we dated for almost a decade?” Michael asked, alone in the dark of their first apartment.

“I do, in fact, know that,” Jaimie nodded, snuggled up to him in their too-small, perfect sized bed.  “It’s about time we did this…”

“What?  Got married?” Michael asked, leaning down to kiss her again.

“Mmm-hmm.  So happy Roz and Royal could come,” Jaimie remarked.

“Jaim, I love me a little R & R, okay?  But the two of them?  Have been on every single date with us.”

Jaimie wrinkled her brow.  “They have not.  We didn’t even go to college together.  It was you and me.”

“And you calling Rozariah every night after every single date.”

“Can I help it if she’s like my sister?” Jaimie scoffed.  “You called Royal.”

“He’s my man,” Michael said, feigning hurt.

“We don’t have to make our marriage a twin-free zone, do we?” Jaimie asked.  “I don’t wanna be one of those couples who has no friends outside of each other.”

“Nah, babe, I don’t want that either,” Michael agrees.  “But we’re best friends?”

“Always.”

–

Two years later, in October, Jaimie goes into labor at home.  

Thank God it’s a Saturday.  Thank God Michael’s there.  Because there is no way Jaimie would be able to do this alone.

Turns out, their baby waits for no one.  Not even her Mama to get to the car.  Jaimie stops as contractions seize her.  And cannot move.

Michael calls 911 because he can see the head.

“Michael Williams, don’t you dare pass out on me,” Jaimie gasps in the midst of contractions.

“They’re saying don’t push,” he says, and it’s ludicrous, because Jaimie is not in control right now.  

“She’s coming, Michael.  I have to push!”

She’s out in three.  Three pushes is all it takes to deliver their sweet baby, Dominique Nora Williams.  6:23 PM.  In their living room.  The ambulance arrives minutes later.

Dominique has a healthy cry.  She looks big.  (And weighs in later at a healthy eight pounds even.)  She has dark hair and beautiful brown eyes, which she opens to stare right at Jaimie.

They go home again as a family two days later.  The nursery she and Michael worked on together is perfect.  Decorated with pale yellow, white and gray.  Giraffes and elephants on the wallpaper border.

Jaimie doesn’t take naturally to being  a parent.  It’s hard.  Breastfeeding hurts - they never tell you that!  But Dom bites, especially when she starts cutting teeth.  Jaimie’s got all kinds of hormone problems, crying all the time, like Kirstie Alley in that  _Look Who’s Talking_  movie from the year they graduated high school.

(Oh, well, at least Jaimie knows she’s kinda normal.)

It helped that her mom was here to help the first couple weeks - thrilled that baby Dominique has her first name as a middle name.  Michael’s mom comes, too.  Later, and any help they can get is appreciated.

It takes until Dominique is about eight months old for Jaimie to even start feeling like she has a handle on things.

It hits her how lucky they are.  Dominique’s happy.  Babbling.  Eating well.  She’s loved.  She cries when she or Michael (especially Michael) even goes into the next room.  It’s hard on her that Daddy goes to work.  And she looks out the window each afternoon, slobbering on the glass in the window, pounding on it, screaming, “BabababaBABA!” until he gets there, swinging her into the air and making her giggle.

–

Her first real word comes just after she turns 1:

“I love you, baby,” Jaimie greets her, after naptime, one day.  (The same thing they say to her first thing in the morning, at night before bed, and several times throughout every day.)

“Awuy, bay-bee,” Dominique repeats, hugging Jaimie around the neck hard.

She reaches for Michael, who, thank God, came in behind her:

“Awuy, bay-bee,” she repeats, reaching and reaching for him.

“Dominique Williams.  Did you just say, ‘ _I love you, baby_ ,’ to Mama and Daddy?” Jaimie asks, incredulous.

She nods, her head resting on Michael’s shoulder.

–

Jaimie doesn’t think much about it, until she has no choice but to think about it.

She’s mentioned it to Michael.  Briefly.  In a “a lot can change in eight years” kinda way in college when things started moving from kissing to more than kissing.

“Stuff happened to me.  As a kid, Michael.  And I don’t wanna talk about it.  Don’t know how to talk about it.  Just be careful.  And please don’t ask me.”

He’d respected that.  All these years and he’s never asked about it once.  He does ask if she’s okay, when she gets quiet, or worried.  But he’s never seen her panic.  She’s never seen it herself, ‘til it happens.  One day in January, 2001.

Two-year-old Dominique’s in the stroller, talking a mile a minute:

“Mama, I have gum?  Please?”

“Baby, I don’t want you having gum.  It’s gonna get everywhere,” Michael balks.

“I wanna have gum,” she whines.  “The ball kind.”

“Okay.  Let’s discuss it together, should we?” Jaimie interjects.

“Yes.  ‘Scuss it.  Annen I have it.”

“If we tell her what to do with it, she’ll learn.  Or she won’t,” Jaimie encourages.  “We can’t keep her in a bubble, Michael.”  

“But I want to,” Michael objects, sweetly, giving Jaimie a kiss.

“I know, but she’s a child, not a toy.  We gotta let her experience stuff.  Even gum…” she wrinkles her nose.

They talk to Dominique about gum.  Jaimie explains it’s a special candy that you chew.  “Not swallow.  When you’re done chewing, you spit it in a tissue.  Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Dominique smiles.

“Good.  Now, you hang in there.  Do your best to be very good, and then on our way out, we’ll get a gumball.”

“I want yellow!”

“We don’t get to say what color we get,” Michael warns.  “Might be yellow.  But it might be another color.  Make sense?”

“But I want yellow gum, Daddy.”

“I hear you wanting yellow gum, babe, I do.  But Daddy can’t guarantee you yellow gum.  I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you can!  You big and strong!  For making yellow gum! ‘Kay, Daddy?”

Jaimie’s in the cereal aisle trying to pick out plain Cheerios without Dominique wanting every sugary kind there is, when she glances up.  Sees somebody who looks just like….

Her vision goes dim.  She can’t breathe.  Drops the cereal.  Turns desperate eyes to Michael.

“What is it?  Jaimie?” he asks.  

But she can’t answer.  Her eyes are full of fear, darting.  This is the part of life she never told Michael about so how will he know how serious this is?  Will he get it?  Will he believe her?  Help her?  God, she needs to get out of this damn store.  

Twenty-nine, and feeling every bit the child she’d been then.

“Okay.  It’s okay.  Jaim.  Leave the groceries.  We’ll go, okay?” he promises.

Jaimie clings to his arm as they leave the store.  Dominique’s sobbing and lunging at the gumball machine as they pass it.

“ _I bery good, Mama!  I bery good!_ ” she sobs.

Jaimie’s crying, too.  

Somehow, Michael gets them all in the car.  Somehow, above the din, Michael can be heard, singing  _I Like to Be Told_  from  _Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood_.  Dominique is a big fan.  And Jaimie and Michael are big fans of songs that help Dominique sort out what she’s feeling and why.

It fits for Jaimie, too.  Everybody could use a little warning before their life gets spun and turned on its head.

Michael takes the time to explain to Dominique, who he is sure, even if she can’t understand every single word, understands more than they think she does.  Says he knows she likes to be told what’s happening.  And sometimes surprise things happen.  

“Big feelings come,  _poof_!  Like magic, and change our plans.  Even for mommies and daddies.  Sometimes big feelings come too fast to tell each other.  But we all love each other still.  And it’s gonna be okay.  Daddy says it’s gonna be okay.”

“I want yellow gum,” Dominique says, quiet, in between gasps.  Tears still drying on her face.

“I know you do, Dom. and I know we said you could.  Mommy’s having some big feelings right now, so we gotta be with her.  And I won’t forget your yellow gum.  I know that matters to you.”

“Mommy, you havin’ big feelings?” Dominique asks.  “You cry?”

Jaimie can’t answer.  

“She’s having some big feelings.  But it’s okay to have big feelings, right?”

Dominique hesitates.

“What do Mommy and Daddy say when you’re having big feelings?”

Dominique fidgets with her carseat strap.  

“We say, ‘It’s okay.  Your big feelings matter,” Michael tells her, giving Dominique the words.

Jaimie feels like such a failure.  She can’t do anything.  She’s scaring her baby.

Dominique is still whimpering as Michael pulls into the local Dollar Store parking lot.  Jaimie’s frozen in the seat, not ready to get out and face anybody.

“You gonna stay here?  Dominique and I are gonna be right back.”

Jaimie can’t imagine what Michael’s buying right now, but they did just leave all their groceries behind.

In minutes, they come back out.  Dominique singing,  _I Like to Be Told_ with Michael now.  In her little hands, she’s carrying bubbles.

When they get home (which Jaimie can’t recall) she, Michael and Dominique all hang out on the deck.  Michael blows bubbles and Dominique shrieks and runs around popping each one.

It’s the day Jaimie decides she’s gotta get some help.

–

Dominique turns 3 at the end of 2001.  Has a Dragon Tales party and then gets to sleep over at Grandma Nora’s for the first time.  She comes home talking about Sesame Street and gingerbread cookies and Garfield sleeping bags.

Produces pages and pages of paper where Dominique has printed, in all caps, the sentence, I AM DOM.  She is beyond proud of herself.  Beaming.

“I’m three and I can write now!” she shares.  “Look at all this I wrote!”

“That’s so good!  Dominique, we’re so proud of you!  Did you and Gran have a good time?”

She nods, snuggled up against them.

Jaimie and Michael hang up every single paper.

–

In 2003, sometime after Dominique turns 4, the teacher calls Jaimie and Michael in for a meeting.

“You know your daughter’s printing?” the teacher asks.

Jaimie can’t read her tone.  It’s cryptic.

“Yes, we encourage her at home,” Jaimie offers.

“You know she’s reading?”  Now, it’s clear.  The teacher, maybe 22, is scoffing.

“Starting to, yes,” Michael nods.  

“She’s yelling out words during storytime.  It’s disruptive.  And her boasting about all the words she can print is hurting the other children’s feelings.”

“Are you suggesting we discourage her?” Michael asks, and Jaimie puts a hand on his arm.

“I got this.  Ma’am?  Dominique’s a good girl.  She really is.  She’s just proud of what she’s learning.”

“Maybe this isn’t the best place for her,” the teacher responds, finally coming to the point of the conference.

“You know what?” Jaimie asks.  “Maybe it isn’t.”

Michael follows her out, after Jaimie makes it official and withdraws Dominique.

In the car, he finally asks:  “So, what now?”

“I’m done with my counseling.  I can get a job anywhere, and you did just get that great offer in San Diego.  Maybe it’s time to make a move.”

He turns to her, and smiles, nervous.  “You know I don’t do change well.”

“I know,” she nods.

“But I’d go anywhere with you…and our gifted and talented daughter.”

She leans over.  Kisses him gently.  Briefly.

They get home and Dominique runs into their arms.  “Did my teacher tell you how smart I am?!” she asks, braids and beads bouncing everywhere.  Grandma Nora appears behind her.

“How smart are you?” Michael cues, knowing Dominique is asking to fill in this blank:

“S-M-A-R-T!”

“That’s right.  And your teacher told us you are so smart, you get to go to a whole different school!  What do you think of that?”

“With you and Mama, and Gran?” Dominique checks.

“Absolutely.  All of us together,” Michael reassures.

“Yay!”  Dominique cheers.  “We’re going on a adventure!” she wiggles to get put down and takes off.

“I think we made the right choice,” Michael muses.

“I think we did,” Jaimie smiles.  “I think we did.”


	4. Levi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Paris West changed Nia Major’s life for the better. And the birth of their son, Levi, elevates it even more. Becoming a mother at 50 years old hadn’t been in her plans, but Nia cannot imagine her life without her sweet son.

Nia Major first met Paris West in September of 1993, coming out of the post office in Brainerd, dropping off a package for Mom.

On the way out, she caught sight of the car - an eyesore if she’s ever seen one: lime green.  Four doors.  Parked right by the elementary school.  The driver’s got binoculars.

Nia normally wouldn’t confront anybody like this, much less a man, as a single woman.  But she has Mom’s great dane at her side.  Parks him right in the way of the man with the binoculars, spying on the schoolkids.

The driver rears back, realizing his view is obscured.  Startled by the dog.  It being the size of a small horse and all.

The man clears his throat.

“Excuse me?  Ma’am?  Would you mind moving your dog?”

“I would mind.  I would mind very much.  See, this is Vader.”  (Nia has the joy of seeing the man in the lime green car gulp.  Must know his Star Wars.)  “And Vader doesn’t take to men who lurk and spy on kids in the schoolyard.”

Vader gives the man the hairy eyeball.  Very effective.

“Okay.  Well, please tell Vader that this ain’t what it looks like.  I’m here because I’m checking on my daughter.  She’s ten.  But I can’t see her out here anywhere.  Maybe they moved…” he ventures under his breath, sounding lost at the possibility.

“Most people’d just go to the front desk and ask at the school.  Better yet, go home and knock on the door,” Nia points out, crossing her arms.

“Afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.  Her mother and I are estranged.  It’s a long story.  Any way I’ve tried to see her legally?  Gets blocked.  So I’m stuck out here.  Pair of binoculars and no dignity.”

“You sure you got a daughter?” Nia asks, still not willing to let Binoculars off the hook.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and digs in his pocket.  “This is Pearl.  She was four here.  The last time I saw her.”

Nia stares at the picture.  At the man in it, who looks so much younger, despite the date on the front stating the picture was only taken six years earlier.  Both of them seem so happy.

After a minute, she extends a hand through the open window.  “Nia Major.”

“Paris West,” he returns, shaking her hand.

–

Nia and Paris end up seeing each other here and there in town for years.  For a while, they go to the same church.  After a year, he finally accepts her invitation to go out for a cup of  coffee, but insists he’s not looking for anything other than a conversation partner.

Makes it clear that after his last relationship, his trust is good and dented.  And it’s gonna take a while to trust a woman again - even the good ones.

They have coffee once a week for a good year or two in a row.  She asks about Pearl.  He checks in on Vader.  They discuss life, and faith.  Things that matter.  Then, Nia’s job transfers her suddenly, and she’s got to take it or risk losing the position altogether.

It all happens so fast, there isn’t time to say goodbye to Paris in person.

They transition to letters.

He is her one constant, writing every single week, regardless of if Nia finds time to squeeze in a reply.  

In 2001, the letters stop.

–

It’s the end of January, 2002. Seven months shy of ten years to the day when Nia first caught Paris with the binoculars, checking on his daughter.  There’s a knock on her door.

It’s him.  “I wondered if you’d like to come out with me for a cup of coffee,” he says, like no time at all has passed.  “I mean, assuming you haven’t settled down…”

“Paris!” Nia greets, her smile so big it’s about to crack her face in two.  She throws her arms around him.  “You know settling doesn’t suit me.  I’ll get my coat.”

They go for coffee, just a cup.  Five hours later, they’re still there.

“So, how’s Pearl?  She’s got to be, what, in college now?  Have you all managed to reconnect?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says, swallowing.  “I really wouldn’t have the faintest idea.”

“Why?  What happened?” Nia asks, concerned.  It’s been no secret for as long as they’ve been friends that he’s been holding onto this hope.  That once Pearl turned eighteen, she’d get in touch.  It’s why he hung around Brainerd so long.

“I keep writing her, Nia.  Not just holidays and birthdays.  I’ve written her every single week since the day I left.  Not one reply.  I’ve stopped by the house a time or two.  Driven by, but I never see her.  I don’t know if she’s forgotten me.  If she thinks I don’t care.  Or if her mother’s doing her best to keep us separated.  But I waited, Nia.  Seven months of waiting since she turned eighteen and nothing.  Not one word.”

“I’m sorry, Paris.  I know how much you love her,” Nia says and means it.

“So, I figured.  I spent enough time wallowing.  Time to get myself to Colorado and check in on my favorite person.”  He offers her a smile.

“What?” Nia looks around comically.  “Me?  I’m your favorite person?”

“That, you are,” he nods.  “So, I’m not getting any younger.  What do you say, we get ourselves married?”

“Uh…  Excuse me?” she stutters, nearly spitting out her coffee.

“I’m pushing 50 years old.  It’s time I start living my life again.  Wanna live it with me?” he asks.

–

They marry in August.

By September (and feeling about like Sarah in the Bible) Nia’s pregnant.  They pray together about what the baby’s name should be.  They can only come up with one option.

–

Levi Paris West is born on June 10, 2003 at 10:20 AM.  

He comes via scheduled C-section, and when the doctor says that’s the soonest available time, it doesn’t even hit Nia.  Not until after Levi’s been in the world several hours.

Not til Paris is holding him.  And Nia’s in the bed still recovering.

“You and your big sister share a birthday, you know that?” he asks little Levi.

Nia can’t respond.  She’s too spent to say anything.

In fact, it’s not til Lev’s about 2 months old that Nia can properly follow up about it.

“Paris,” she asks, finding him awake for Levi’s 4 AM feeding and taking care of everything before she’d been able to even fully wake up.

“Yes, dear?” he asks as Levi takes his bottle hungrily.

“Just wanna say…I didn’t know…about it being Pearl’s birthday and all.  I mean, I knew.  I just…I didn’t think about it.  And if it was hard for you…  Well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Paris nods at her to come in. He stands, leaving the rocking chair free for her to sit in.

“Doesn’t bother me.  It was fate,” Paris says, walking easily back and forth, patting Levi’s back like a pro until a loud burp escapes.

“Fate?  Paris West, we don’t believe in fate,” Nia admonishes lightly, a smile on her lips.

“Whatever the case…I think it was the plan all along.  And how can I be upset about a miracle like this?  A little spirit meant to be?” Paris holds Levi close, rocking him.  

She falls asleep to him asking the baby, “Do you wanna be an astronaut?”

–

It’s September of 2004, and their baby, Levi is growing by leaps and bounds.  Nia gets the joy of learning more and more about his personality.  And so far?  She knows he loves Vader.

Everything Nia’s ever read says that Great Danes don’t live much past eight to ten years.  But Vader has defied expectation.  Eleven years old and going strong.  Lets Levi chase him and lie on him and all kinds of things.  There are moments it looks like the giant dog could gobble up tiny Levi in two bites, an instead, Vader’s tongue is out licking Levi’s whole face and Levi’s laughing a great big belly laugh.

Nia’s a little concerned.  That Levi’s not started talking yet.  She’s tried not to overthink it.  She’s heard it said that boys talk later than girls.  Nia has it on good authority that Levi understands a good deal of what she says.  And even what he doesn’t?  She makes sure to simplify, so he can get it.  Babies are smart.  Nia’s sure about this.

Paris is just getting home from a long day at work, when Vader (whom Paris affectionately calls “hellhound”) lets out a happy bark.  

Seconds later, a smaller human bark follows.

Nia double takes, at Levi waiting at the door with Vader.  Both barking in anticipation of seeing their daddy.

(A few months later, Levi’s real first word comes.  Surprising to absolutely no one?  It’s “Puppy.”  Vader licked him good for that.  It was like he knew.)

–

Levi’s just a little older than two years old when Nia finds the recipe for Mexican lasagna.  Has got to try it.  She sets Levi up on a chair next to her at the table while she arranges the ingredients in front of them.

When it’s time to get cooking, she sets Levi far back away from the stove, giving him the bag of shredded cheese to hold.  

“You hold onto that cheese for Mommy, okay?” she asks.

“‘Kay,” Levi answers.

“Good job,” Nia tells him and gets busy at the stove.  Seems like two seconds pass and she turns around.  Sees Paris with the video camera.  Baby Levi with an empty bag of cheese.

“Uh-oh!  Levi, where’s Mommy’s cheese at?” Nia asks, a smile on her face.

“Ah-gone!” he shows her the bag, with wide brown eyes, cheese crumbs all around his mouth.

“All gone?” she asks.  “Where’d it go?”  

“Ah-gone, Mommy!  Ah-gone!” Levi glances around.

“You gonna find it for Mommy?” Nia asks, gasping for breath through her laughter.

“‘Kay,” Levi nods, and climbs down off the chair, still toting the empty cheese wrapper in his fist.  He checks under the table.  In the garbage.  Even in Daddy’s pockets.

“No cheese?” Nia asks, drying her tears.

“No cheese, Mommy.  Sorry.”  Now, Levi looks contrite.

“Oh, it’s alright, son.  We’re gonna be just fine.”

Paris walks into the kitchen, hugs Nia.  Levi caught between them.  The baby reaches up for Paris’s hat that’s been around for at least 20 years, if Nia’s guess is correct.  Levi takes it off his Daddy.  Puts it on himself.  Grins.

“Tell Mommy, ‘No Sweat!’ Paris grins at Levi.

“Mommy, puppy eat that cheese…” Levi says, looking at Vader seriously.

–

They lose Vader when Levi’s 3.

It’s harder than Nia ever imagined.

Levi wants to sleep with the dog’s blanket.  Is convinced that when he is “all done playing” Vader will “come back.”

No matter what they say to Levi, they cannot convince him otherwise.

–

June, 2007 came and Levi turned four.  Had a Clifford the Big Red Dog party (of course.)  In September, he started preschool.  Was nervous to ever leave Nia’s side, but Paris promised to wait outside all day in case Levi needed him.

“Honey, don’t you think that’s a little over the top?” Nia asks.

Paris just raises his eyebrows.  Levi finally stops crying.  “You come to school with me?” he asks.

“You bet.  Daddy will be there.  All day.”

“Protecting me?” Levi asks, wiping his eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Paris nods.

They go out the door together.

That Friday, somehow, all of Paris’s precautions seem just extreme enough to protect their son.  Nia can’t look away from the news.

“Honey, did you hear?” she asks, when Paris calls from work.

“Hear what?” he asks.

“A little boy got kidnapped out in California,” Nia relays in a hush, aware that Levi’s in the back seat now.  That she just picked him up from preschool.  “I heard it on the scanner.”

“Say a prayer for him.  That’s about all we can do.” Paris says.

“That’s it, and that’s a lot,” Nia decides.  “Love you, baby,” she says, hanging up the call.

“Mommy?  Is that boy sleepin’” Levi wonders.

“What, Levi?”

“That California-boy?  Is he sleepin’?” her son persists, staring at her from the back seat, his brown eyes wide and innocent.

“I hope so, Levi.  I really do hope so.  Hagrid, get back,” Nia warns, waving their English Mastiff puppy to the back seat.  Hagrid ignores her and continues wedging his head in between the seats.

“Get back here, Hagrid,” Levi giggles.  

Nia lets out a breath, sends up a prayer, turns the car around, and heads toward home.

 


	5. Frankie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena Adams has wanted a biological baby her entire life. Meeting Stef Foster (and her biological son, Brandon) seemed to make that impossible - especially after adopting four kids from foster care. But somehow, after more than 8 years, Frankie comes into their lives. And its as if she was always meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized dialogue in this chapter means it was quoted by Stef or Lena on screen.

Lena’s working at Anchor Beach Charter School as the assistant vice principal when she first meets Stefanie Foster and her son, Brandon.

She had then down in her calendar.  September 3, 2001.  She never expected them to be anything more than a prospective student, and a prospective parent of a student.  But something was there between them.  Lena could feel it.

A spark, upon that introduction.

_“Sorry to keep you waiting.  Hi, I’m Lena Adams, the assistant vice principal.”_

_“Hi, I’m Stef Foster,”_

Their handshake lasted a little too long.  Neither one could look away from the other.  In the end, professionalism won out, and Lena focused on what she was here to do.

Next, she introduced herself to Brandon.  A quiet boy with brown hair and serious green eyes.  He offered a shy, “hi,” at Stef’s prompting but not much more than that.

He passed the kindergarten proficiency exam with flying colors.

“Welcome to Anchor Beach,” she told them both at the end of the visit.

–

Over the next few months, when Stef arrived to pick up Brandon from school, she hung around.  They’d had a few conversations, but as Brandon was an exceptionally good student and a sweet boy,  there had no need for conferences or meetings about academic or conduct issues.

Still, Lena sensed that Stef was coming up with questions specifically so she would have an excuse to speak to Lena.  She’s twenty-six, and has been around the block a few times - knows what it looks like when she’s being flirted with.  

But Lena also knows that Stef hesitated when Lena asked if her husband would be joining them.  She has a ring line, but no ring.  And Brandon talks about his “Mom and Dad” all the time.  In the same sentence.

So when Stef drops by again in December, leaning on the car in the parking lot, Lena has got to set her straight:

_“I’m not doing this.  I’m not.  I’m not getting involved with a married woman.  Women like you, you are just passing through, but this is where I live, Stef.”_

Stef, though, surprises her.  Admitting she’s told her ex-husband, her father and most of her friends that she’s a lesbian.  She called Lena  _“a woman that I can’t live without.”_

And Lena made room in her house.  Converted her office to a bedroom for Brandon in a hurry.

They moved in just in time for Christmas.

–

On Christmas night, Stef gets a call.

 “It’s work, I knew it…” Brandon sighs, knowing.

“It’s work.  You’re right.  Be back soon, B.  Be a good boy for Lena.” Stef urges.

“I will,” Brandon nods.

That night at home isn’t much different than any other.  Brandon doesn’t want to take a shower, because he wants to keep playing with his Christmas toys, but Lena convinced him with the promise of watching  _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_  again.

“You’re not my real mom, you know?” Brandon said, looking at her quizzically after Lena draped an arm around him on the couch.  “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to…” Lena had ventured, feeling stung but determined.  “But can I?”

“You are right now,” Brandon points out.  “I’m trying to watch this,” he says, scooting to the end of the couch.

When the movie ends, Lena tucks Brandon into bed.  “You know… before my dad got married to my mom?  He was married to someone else.  They had a son.”

Brandon listens.

“His name is Nate, and he’s my older brother, but he never treated me like family.  He was mean to me.  Mean to my mom.”

“Probably, ‘cause he just wanted his life to go back to how it was before.  When it was him and his dad and his own mom.  Having another mom or dad?  It just makes you miss yours more.”

“Is that why you don’t want me to cuddle you?” Lena asks.

“No…  ‘Cause, what if my dad finds out and he gets really sad?  We used to sit together and watch TV.”

“Does it bother you that I put my arm around you?” Lena wonders.

Brandon shrugs.  He wipes his eyes.  “It just makes me miss Daddy,” he says, lying down to face the wall.  “Night, Lena.”

“Good night, Brandon.  Merry Christmas.”

Lena passes the time picking up the house and waiting for Stef.  She’s in bed by the time Lena hears the key in the lock.  Hears the keys set down, feels the bed give as Stef crawls in and whispers:

“I had to help take a kid from their family on Christmas night…”

Lena rolls over.  “Oh, God.  Honey, I’m sorry.  Are you okay?”

“I am.  I just…couldn’t stop thinking the whole night, you know, we’ve gotta do something about this…”

“Like what?” Lena wonders, lost.

“Well…what if we went through the process?  Became licensed foster parents?” Stef asks.

Lena smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes.  She’s been hoping they’ll talk about options.  Options that will lead to pregnancy.  So that Lena can know the joy Stef experienced with Brandon.  Carrying a baby.  Birthing a baby.  If anything, her conversation and interaction with Brandon tonight just made the thoughts grow stronger:

Lena wants - has always wanted - to be a biological mother to someone.  To have those family ties that Stef already has.

But she keeps quiet.  Shelves the dream for the time being.

And they move forward.

Nine months later, after a conversation with now 6 year old Brandon, they start the process.  Take the classes.

Lena Adams is about to venture into foster parenting.

–

February 1, 2004, Lena’s entire world tilts.  Everything spills off it’s surface, including her, and she is left clinging to its edge.

Because that’s the day Stef goes to work in the morning, as usual, and comes back in the evening with twins:  Mariana and Jesus Gutierrez.  They’re five years old and nothing like the lost four-year-old they fostered for 24 hours.  Nothing like the sweet newborn baby they loved and gave a home to for 8 months.

They go from silent and watchful to wild in five seconds flat.  Mariana tells Lena, “You have black hair like our real mom,” and her heart breaks a little.

At this rate, it feels like Lena will not be anybody’s ‘real mom.’

–

Four years later, and Lena is reeling.  They somehow had managed to adopt Jesus and Mariana after a tumultuous two and a half years, where they were bounced back and forth to their bio mom’s custody and came back to them more hurt each time.

They’d had 8 months of relative peace, living in their new home on Villa Mariposa, when Jesus disappeared the first week of fourth grade.

It’s like a nightmare that won’t end.

The last thing she ever expects is for another sibling pair to show up in November of 2008.  Eleven year old Callie and seven year old Jude, of course, deserve a home, and safety and permanency, but every time Lena lets herself think of talking about insemination?  About possibly getting pregnant?  There are more foster kids.

And Lena can’t think about foster kids without thinking about Jesus, out there somewhere.  Or not out there anywhere.  Both possibilities devastate Lena because of her own guilt over not knowing he was missing.

That, combined with the feeling that her dream is about to wither and die has Lena lashing out at Stef one night, when all the kids are at Mom and Dad’s for the night.

“Really?  Did you really think putting our names back on the board at the agency was the way to go, Stef?” Lena seethes.

“I’m sorry.  I thought we made that decision together,” Stef snaps.

“After we adopted one of the kids from that system and  _lost him_.” Lena insists.

“We didn’t lose him, Lena.  He…  Something happened.  It’s not our fault.” Stef tries.

“I never thought we’d be here again.  With more foster kids, after all this…” Lena manages, holding back tears.

“Lena, what’s wrong, love?” Stef asks, coming to her in the kitchen.

“Do you know…how long…I’ve wanted a baby?’ Lena sniffs.

Stef’s mouth opens.  She glances around confused.  “We have babies, love.  We have…so many babies…”

(Lena doesn’t miss how Stef skirts around having to assign a number to just how many children they have.  Because what do they say?  Five?  Four?  1 biological, 1 adopted, 2 fostered and 1 lost?)

“I mean…I want to carry a baby, Stef.  I want to have a baby.  Myself.  Our baby.  You got to have Brandon, and I just…ever since I moved in with you…I thought..we’d have the conversation, and I just…”  Lena breaks down.

Stef holds her as she cries.

“I love our family.  I love our kids.  But it’s not the family I imagined.  It’s not complete yet.  I want to have a baby…”

“We can’t replace Jesus, Lena,” Stef warns gentle.

“No.  This is…I’ve wanted this baby since before Jesus.  I’ve wanted this baby my entire life, Stef.”

“Our life is so complicated already, honey.  Are you sure you want this?  What if…what if Jesus comes back someday?  What will he think if he sees we’ve moved on?  With a baby, no less…”

“You didn’t have any of these concerns bringing Callie and Jude into the house…” Lena points out.

“Because they came the way he and Mariana did,” Stef explains, impatient.  “He’d understand.”

“Is it Jesus you’re worried about in this scenario, or is it you?  Do you not want me to have a baby?”

“I want you to have everything you want.  I don’t want to be the reason you don’t have a baby,” Stef remarks, sighing.  “So, what do we do next?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Lena says, drying her tears.

–

It’s harder than Lena expects, looking at potential donors on a screen and trying to discern who would be best based on the most basic facts.  Not only that, she’s been hoping that with time, Stef will come around to the idea.  Be a bit more enthusiastic about expanding the family.  But even looking at potential donors online, Stef has reservations.  Wants a donor who shares more of her own “characteristics.”

_“You mean white,”_  Lena points out, disappointed.

_“And smart, and charming,”_  Stef starts to list.

_“The thing is, Stef, I’m half-white.  So if we look for a donor who is also white, the baby won’t end up looking like me at all.  Not that it has to look like me, it’s just…”_

“ _No, no…  African-American, it is,”_  Stef says, less than thrilled.

“You have Brandon,” Lena tells Stef quietly.  “Honey, you see yourself every day in him.  Callie and Jude are white.  And I’m the only one who…who’s biracial.”

“The twins are biracial,” Stef points out, before she can stop herself.

“Stef, that’s not the point.  This is important to me.  To have someone in the family who’s like me.  Can’t you see that?”  (But maybe she can’t.  Maybe Stef has never been the only one in her family.)

“I can see that.  I told you, it’s fine.  You’re having the baby, Lena.  You choose the donor.  I’m just along for the ride.”

“No, you’re not.  You’re not just along for the ride.  You’re going to be this baby’s mom.  And I want you involved.  I want you on board.  Can you do that, please?  Can you be happy for me?” Lena all but begs.

“That you wanna have a baby that looks nothing like me?  Sure.  I’m thrilled, Lena.”  Stef snaps, quiet.

Before she can say anymore, Stef stands up and leaves her office.  So much for having lunch together.

–

It doesn’t take long for Lena to decide the anonymous donor site is just too impersonal.  Wants to know the kind of person the father is.

That’s how Lena settles on Timothy.  He’s an English teacher at Anchor Beach.  Smart.  Funny.  Kind.  All qualities she hopes for her own baby to possess.  But getting Stef behind this development is harder still.

_“You think I want you going to work every day and seeing our baby’s father?”_  Stef hisses.

_“Kinda like you see Mike?”_ Lena pushes back.

_“That’s different, and you know it.  Our life has enough challenges in it right now.  Do you really want to open the door to someone else in our lives?  In our baby’s life?”_

_“If it means knowing our child’s history?  Yes,”_  Lena says definitively.  “You know how many questions Mariana and Callie and Jude have about their biological parents.  About characteristics they can’t place.  Wouldn’t it be nice to have answers for one child.  This child?”

Stef wavers.  “For medical reasons…yes.  I’ll give you that.  But, Lena, if Timothy thinks saying yes to this means he gets to be involved in parenting decisions?  Gets to visit?  Anything like that?  No.  I think we need to have him sign a contract.  Keep things official.”

Lena blows out a breath.  “We can’t lose another one.  You’re right.  This way, we’ll know the history, but be protected from potential attempts at involvement down the road.”

–

In August, 2009, Callie and Jude’s adoption is finalized.

Lena invites Timothy to the party.  With all the other guests, he’ll blend in, and he’ll be able to slip away and do his thing undetected.

She smiles and hugs Callie and Jude, all the while feeling the odd mix of the ache at Jesus’s absence and the excitement at the possibility of their family growing again.

–

On October 16, 2009, two months after Callie and Jude are officially Adams Fosters, Lena talks to Stef, and they make the decision to tell the kids.

Lena’s just over two months along.  Her belly’s swelling slightly already.  She’s been to the doctor.  Knows it measures an inch in length.  It’s in there.  Her baby is in there.

“Kids, we have something to tell you,” Stef says.  She pauses once she has all of their attention.  Nods at Lena.

“I’m going to have a baby…” Lena says, hesitating.

“How?” Callie blurts.  “I mean, don’t you need a man for that?”

“She means adopting, right?  That’s how all the kids come into this family,” Brandon remarks, dryly.

“Two girls can’t have a baby, right, Callie?” Jude asks.

“No,” Callie shakes her head.  “I think Brandon’s right.  I think they’re adopting.”

“Are you?” Mariana presses.  “Adopting?  Or what do you mean?”

“I mean…  There are ways that two mommies can have a baby if they want to.  There are nice men out there who want to help.”

Brandon coughs.  “…Timothy…”

“Excuse me?” Stef asks.

“What?  He was in your bathroom.  Not exactly subtle, Moms…”

“ _I mean_ …” Lena repeats.  “I’m…pregnant…”

“No way…” Mariana’s in awe, as Lena nods.  “Seriously, you are?  When is it coming?”

“The end of June,” Lena says, smiling.  Mariana and Jude are thrilled.  Callie and Brandon are more reserved.

“Where will it sleep?” Callie asks.  “Not in Jesus’s room…”

All eyes turn toward her.

“No.  Not in Jesus’s room.  That stays as it is.  We’re not replacing your brother.  Understood, my babies?” Stef checks.

Four heads bob up and down.

“Okay.  Now, let’s finish our dinner before it gets cold.” Stef says.

–

Starting in December, Lena develops some scary complications.  Heavy bleeding.  She’s terrified that at just 20 weeks, she’s losing the baby.  But an ultrasound shows that its still there.

No, not it.

_She_.

The ultrasound tech accidentally gender-revealed on what almost was the worst night of Lena’s life.  Right up there next to the first night Jesus was missing.

They think of names.  Lena wants more than anything for Stef to feel a part of this process.  A part of this baby’s life.

“Why don’t you name her?” Lena offers.

“Me?  I’m awful at picking names.  Back when Brandon was born?  I’d made a foolish promise to my dad that if he was a boy, I’d name him Frank.  He’s never forgiven me for not following through on that…”

“That could work…” Lena ventures.

“You wanna name our  _daughter Frank_?” Stef laughs.  It’s been forever since Lena’s heard her laugh.

“Francesca?” Lena asks.  “Frankie, for short?”

“Well, that…is…” Stef manages, clearing her throat.  “That is kinda cute.  And my dad would be over the moon.  Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Hey Frankie,” Stef calls softly into Lena’s belly.  “It’s your mom.  Do us a favor and stay inside a few more months.  We really wanna meet you.”

–

As much as Lena tries to do absolutely everything the doctors recommend, the bleeding episodes continue.  Finally, at the very end of February, Lena’s hospitalized with four months of the pregnancy to go.

It’s boring.

Agonizing to be away from the kids.  From Stef.

But it’s also a break, from constant stress.  She finds herself catching up with friends, and her mom.  Getting rest she’s needed for the last two years.  

Frankie is monitored closely.  She’s growing.  Her heart rate is strong.  But she needs to make it to at least 28 weeks if she’s gonna have a chance at surviving.

So Lena prays.

And waits.

–

Frankie listens to Lena, but only just.  On the morning of April 2nd, 2010, 28 weeks along, Lena bleeds again and Frankie goes into distress.  They do an emergency C-section at 9:30 AM.  Stef is at work.  

(They’re expecting this in a bit less than three months, not now.)

Francesca Rose Adams Foster weighs 2 pounds, 4 ounces.  She is 12 inches long.  

By the time anyone can alert Stef about what’s happening, it’s been hours.  Lena hasn’t been able to see Frankie.

And by the time she can?  Lena is not sure she wants to.  At least, not alone.

Stef comes, hours later, shocked at the turn of events, but glad that Lena and Frankie are okay for the time being.

“I kinda wanted to cut the cord,” Stef admits, quietly to Lena.

“I know.” Lena nods.  

“I’ll bring the kids by soon.  So they can see her.” Stef promises.

“Maybe you should wait.  You know?  Until Frankie is stronger?” Lena ventures.

–

Days turn to weeks.

The first time Lena can hold Frankie, she is terrified.  The NICU is full of babies just as small as Frankie - even smaller sometimes.  Even sicker.  There are monitors beeping and Lena’s anxiety goes off the charts whenever a baby goes into distress because what if that was Frankie?

Lena’s terrified to hold her daughter because she’s so small.  Because of the wires and tubes.  Because they’ve made sure it’s dark and very quiet, and urged Lena not to speak, because babies this small can become overstimulated easily.

She spends the whole time praying Frankie will not break.

–

Lena is released but Frankie is not.

Weeks turn to months.  They finally manage to get all four kids to the hospital to visit.

Mariana comes whenever she is allowed, hating that she has to have an adult with her.  She’s constantly asking who is with Frankie.  Insisting that she shouldn’t be left alone.

“You know, that happened to Jesus and me…” she ventures, quiet, upon learning that Frankie’s by herself with no parents around for the time being.

“Miss Thang, being neglected is not the same thing as what’s happening to Frankie now. She’s resting.  She needs quiet.  If she were home, she’d need to sleep a lot, too.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Mariana sighs cryptically.  “Can I go be with her?  Please?  I’ll be quiet, I swear,” Mariana begs.

“Honey, kids aren’t allowed in the NICU unaccompanied.” Lena says apologetically.

“So, accompany me.  I’m twelve now.  Maybe if they knew that, they’d let me in alone.”

“No, honey, I don’t think so…” Lena tells her.

Mariana pouts.

“Come on.  Let’s go together,” Lena encourages, taking Mariana’s hand.  

“You know, Jesus and I were here,” Mariana says when they arrive at the window to the NICU.

“What do you mean?” Lena asks.

“When we were babies.  We were early like Frankie.  We were alone.  In a place like this with a lot of beeping,” she shudders.

“Mariana, that was a long time ago.  Just because this is Frankie’s story doesn’t mean it’s yours.  You have your own story.” Lena says, trying  to reassure her.

“But that is my story,” Mariana says, hurt.  She turns to look at Lena.  “Why do you think I keep asking to see Frankie?  It’s because I know what it was like.  We both do.  It’s lonely.”

“Mariana.  There is no way a baby can remember that far back, okay?” Lena sighs.  “And I feel bad enough that we can’t get here as often as I’d like to, so let’s just enjoy the time we have with Frankie, okay?  No more stories?”

Mariana sighs, and walks up to the incubator, in a yellow paper gown.  Sticks her hand in the hole in the side of the plastic incubator, offering a gloved finger for Frankie to grasp.

“It’s Mari.  I’m your big sister.  It’s okay.  You’re not alone.  I’ll come as much as  I can, okay?  I promise.”

Lena watches, amazed as tiny, two month old Frankie squeezes Mariana’s finger.

–

Frankie comes home a month later.  She’s small as a newborn at 3 months old.

It’s just before Callie’s thirteenth birthday, and she says she already got her birthday wish.

“Why?  You never visited her,” Mariana accuses, cradling Frankie.

“Hey, hey, this is supposed to be a happy time.  Mariana, share Francesca with the rest of the family please, love,” Stef advises.  

Reluctantly, Mariana passes her to Callie.

–

Lena finds herself grieving hard on the day Francesca turns 1.

Jesus has been gone over three and a half years.  And though none of them have any plans to touch his room, magical thinking that has led them to keep it like a time capsule seems to have done nothing.  It doesn’t look like their sweet boy is ever coming back.

He’ll never meet his sister.

Never see her take a handful of cake with her bare hand and offer it to Mariana, saying “Ah-na-na!” sweetly as she offers it.

Mariana takes the cake crumbs from her baby sister, beaming.  “Thank you so much, Frankie!  Oh my gosh, did you guys hear that?” she asks, her brown eyes bright with tears.  “Her first word was my name.”  Mariana turns back to Frankie, who caresses Mariana’s cheek with a cakey fist.  “Your brother’s first word was my name, too,” she tells Frankie softly.  “Your brother, Jesus.”

Frankie grins.

Mariana grins back, cake in her hands.  Tears on her face.

–

The following year, so much has changed.

Jesus has been home for five months.  They’ve lived in the house successfully as a family of eight for just three.

Frankie is has a CP diagnosis that Lena still feels is probably her fault, more often than not.

On Frankie’s second birthday, Jesus hides in his room, headphones on.  He’s still ridiculously small for nearly fourteen.  Lena and Stef want to be able to have a nice family party but they know by now that holidays and birthdays are hard on Jesus.  That it’s best for all of them to just leave him be.

Lena walks Frankie to Jesus’s doorway, holding her hands and peers inside the beads.  Now the presents have been cleaned up, the cake’s been eaten and all the guests are gone, the house is notably quieter.

Still, Lena’s disappointed to find Jesus rocking himself back and forth hard against his bedroom wall.

She knows Stef would go inside and physically stop Jesus from doing this but she has Frankie.  She can’t risk her baby’s safety.  There’s so much they don’t yet know about Jesus and what he’s capable of.

“Jesus, can you come here, please?” Lena asks.

He doesn’t respond.

“Frankie, you wanna tell Jesus what you got for you birthday, love?” Lena asks her daughter.

“Toys!” Frankie cries happily.  “Buddy, toys!”

Jesus blinks.  Stops rocking slowly.  “What kinda toys?” he asks, standing up and approaching them cautiously.

“See?” Frankie asks, showing off a new stuffed animal.

“Yeah, I see,” Jesus nods.  “Happy birthday,” he offers.  “Birthday hug?”

Lena’s about to object when Frankie thrusts out her arms and lunges for Jesus.  

“Okay, buddy,” he says, taking her in his arms as gently as ever, and giving her a squeeze.  “I’m glad I get to be home for your birthday,” he whispers.

Frankie slobbers on Jesus’s cheek, her approximation of a kiss.

Jesus smiles.

–

When Frankie turns three there is no party.  Not one at home anyway.  Mom decides to throw one at her house, to spare Jesus the trauma of party decorations and guests.  It sounds over the top, and Lena hates how he removes himself from everything that might be remotely fun and family-oriented.

She gets that he can’t help it, but once in a while it would just be nice, to be able to be a regular family, not Stef and Jesus at home and the rest of them here watching Frankie open her new doctor kit and enjoying cake and pizza afterward.

Lena wonders if their family will ever be the same again?

–

On the day Frankie turns 4, she comes into Lena and Stef’s room early and tries to climb into their bed.  Something hard smacks Lena in the face.

“Ouch.  What is going on?”  She blinks awake seeing Frankie’s leg brace lying beside her own head.  The straps, previously white are now bright with color.

“Francesca Rose, why does your brace look like this?” Lena asks.

“It’s my birthday brace!  Jesus made it for me!  He’s my best buddy!  See?  It gots all my favorite colors!  Purple and green, and orange and red, and yellow and pink and brown and—”

“Honey, I see that, but you need that to walk.  It’s not a toy to color on.  We’re gonna talk to Jesus about that.  And I’m going to see what I can do about cleaning this off…”

“No, I like it,” she pouts.  “Don’t clean it.”

Lena pauses.  Scoops Frankie up on the bed with her.  “You like it?” she asks, because better to keep her talking.  Jesus did not have a tolerance for fits children threw.  And Frankie doesn’t have the self-control yet to avoid them altogether.

“Yes,” Frankie says, touching one strap lovingly.

“Why do you like it?” Lena wonders.

“‘Cause it’s nice and fun.  It’s like me.  The other way makes me different.”

“It’s okay to be different,” Lena tells Frankie honestly.

“I know, but this way makes me better-different,” Frankie explains.  “This is my best birthday present,” she says, clutching the brace.  “I’m gonna go show Mariana!”

“Happy birthday, Frankie,” Lena calls after her.

“Happy birthday, Mama!  Bye!  See you later!” Frankie returns, her voice light.

“See you later,” Lena echoes, feeling something in her heart mend.

She’s finally someone’s Mama.

It’s not exactly the way Lena imagined, but it’s perfect, nonetheless.


End file.
